Eric opened his eyes slowly, after being awakened by the roaring of a train passing, right above his head. Quickly, he closed his eyes, trying not to remember where he was, hoping desperately that it had all been a bad dream. Convincing himself that it had not, he slowly opened his eyes again, only to find dreadful reality staring him in the face. It wasn’t daylight yet. By the look of the sky it appeared to be around 5am. It was cold and damp, and the fog was so thick that vision of more than a few feet was virtually impossible. Eric looked at his surroundings. He had spent the night under a bridge in the slummiest part of town. It was a wonder he had not been discovered by a stumbling drunk or a homeless person. This side of the town was famous for them. Eric sat up and drew his long black coat up tight around himself. He had never remembered in his tormented life, being as chilled to the bone as he was right now. He couldn’t decide if it was from the cold or if it was from the events of the night before.

Eric had worse problems than being cold, much worse. Holding his breath he turned to his left side, suddenly, any strength or sanity he may have regained from sleep had just vanished and fear filled his very soul. Lying next to him, on the ground was the very reason his life had become so screwed up and so out of control. The reason why all of his dreams had been destroyed. Wrapped up in a shabby blanket, bound with rope, was Angelica Thompson, and she was dead, very dead.

To be continued……

a+Fiction
a+Fictional-story
a+Mystery
a+Murder

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